


Boo!

by Bird_Of_Scarlet



Category: Escape the Night (Web Series)
Genre: (almost everyone but e h), Actual Murder, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Attempted Murder, ETNuary, GHO S T S-, Gen, I've had this AU brewing for MONTHS holy HELL-, The only reason joey is maining here is because literally everyone else is dead, They're all dead, Violence, also cult shit, and a lot of it, and mob activity, don't mess this up joey this is your only chance i stg--, listen--- might not be gOOD but i'm DOING IT-, supernatural stuff, that M rating is for slight gore (bc de a t h)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bird_Of_Scarlet/pseuds/Bird_Of_Scarlet
Summary: Another death, another inheritance, another death-related experience for Joey.At least this time it's not demons.This time it's just ghosts.-{An ETNuary Fic}-
Relationships: Andrea Brooks & The Season 1 Folks, Andrea Brooks & Timothy DeLaGhetto, Joey Graceffa & Colleen Ballinger, Joey Graceffa & Everyone, These guys have been dead minimum 40 years, it's a weird kind of group setting but they make it work somehow
Comments: 105
Kudos: 22





	1. Day 1 - Seeing Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is-- going to have a fair chunk of trigger warnings so be wary! I'll list them at the beginning of every chapter though.
> 
> Tw! Gore, Violence (mentions and description), Swearing! gonna be a lot of swearing-- Supernatural ghost shit, Attempted murder, Successful murder, Cult activity
> 
> Also it's late so this shit is DIALOGUE HE A V Y-

"Joey! Joey, are you okay? Y'dead?"

Where the...

_Where the hell is he?_

"Girl how the _fuck_ did you _fall over the railing?"_

Oh yeah. The Estate. "Congratulations, someone you don't know is dead and for some reason, you- win? sure- this place that's only a _little_ bit burned." 

"I... I really don't know. I wasn't- I didn't lean _that_ far over..."

"Right bitch we're getting you an ice pack and an ambulance."

" _Fuck."_

 _That... That_ wasn't _Bretman._

Crouched at his side, it's very clearly his friend there, furrowed brows, a slight pout, and showing no recognition of the voice that clearly belongs to _neither_ of them while he reaches for his phone.

But it’s not _just_ Bret. Standing over him he sees a woman: wavy brown hair, scowl on her face, and a thick fur coat draped around her frame- one that he’d _adore_ if it weren’t for the torn and matted section, the soft-looking material slick with what any normal person would assume was the blood splattered across the bare section of her stomach.

Wait _\- What._

Tilting her head she calls out a “Great plan, he’s not dead.” to the lanky silhouette he can now see standing on the balcony above as his eyes start to focus again. 

“It wasn’t a _plan,_ Colleen, it was a suggestion that _you_ took upon yourself to act on.”

“Well at least I’m doing _something-_ ” she turns her head back, stopping the boy before her, wide-eyed and mouth agape, “What are _you_ looking at?”

That’s when he screams.

* * *

_God_ this is hurting his head. Even just looking around again- he's been staying dead-centre of every hall, even if Bret told him he was being "over-cautious".

What's soon to be his room, top floor, the largest in the manor. Enough room to even fit more than a couple dozen friends for a get together if he wanted. Though, for now it's just him.

At least he's safe enough here.

_"Knock knock!~"_

... _Shit._

 _"I'm trying to be polite- I_ know _you can hear me."_

"No I can't!"

" _R_ _eally?"_

Okay. So he didn't exactly think that through.

"... Why did you say "knock knock"?"

 _"One, privacy,_ duh _, I don't know what you're doing in there. Two,_ I can't knock, can I? _Look."_

Turning his head to the door, he saw a pale fist simply passing through the wood.

"Oh."

_"Well... Can I come in?"_

"Uh." _Whoever this is almost_ killed _him what is he_ thinking- "Sure."

Like her hand, she hops through the door with ease, hands linked at her chest and a smile on her face that clearly seemed to be attempting to sway him away from the fact that around a month ago she almost killed him.

"Hi~ Welcome to Burris Estate," she chimed, cautiously hopping over to him, holding out her hand, "I'm _Colleen_ , nice to meet you."

"If... If your hand goes through the door then it's probably going to go through mine."

" _Oh._ Oh yeah. Whoopsie!"

She continued to beam up at him, attempting to hold the warmth up as long as she could. To be fair to her, it was kinda working. It also gave him a chance to actually look at the ghost closely for once. She's pretty- even with the smeared make-up, stray hairs sticking to her face and blood seeping out of the corners of her smile, a black sash draped across her chest, the words "Maid of Honour" in gold swirled across it, the bottom tattered and stained. 

"So... You're the new owner of the Estate?"

"Yeah, and you're... a ghost?"

"Yep."

"So you're dead?"

"That's kind of what a ghost is, buddy."

"Were you an owner?"

She gives him a look before slapping her knee, a short burst of laughter erupting from her.

"Oh my god _no-_ I'm hardly _that_ rich. No, only like, one ghost here was actually an owner- original owner actually."

"Wait, _one_ ghost here?"

"Oh yeah, there's like..." She takes a moment to count over her fingers, going over the same hand a few too many times for Joey's liking. "Twenty... Eight? Of us here? Well, only twenty-seven that you need to care about but- okay what's with your face you look like you're about to pass out."

"That's... That's a lot of people."

"Yeah- personally, I'm hoping in a couple of millennia we'll reach six hundred and sixty-six, I wanna see if some spooky shit'll go down." 

Joey's still trying to wrap his head around this as she talks. Almost _thirty_ different ghosts? Even if he tries, it'd likely take him a _month_ _minimum_ to learn their names, nevermind probably having to gather enough so he didn't offend them and get his ass haunted for the rest of his days. He does _not_ want to live in a creepy haunted house, nevermind a just downright haunted one.

"Did all of them die... Here?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Over the years."

_He doesn't want to live in a murder house either._

"It wasn't the house that killed us if that helps, it's been ages since anyone new arrived anyway, I'd say you're safe." 

"Oh, okay."

"That or just the start of a new batch."

His heart dropped at her serious expression, panic bubbling in his gut again until another smile cracked across her face.

"I'm kidding! I'm sure you'll be fine, just don't piss anyone off."

"H-how do I do that?"

"I don't know, don't turn our house into a _fucking business."_

"That was only a consideration!"

"Fine! Fine. Here- I could show you around if you want? Introduce you to the others?"

"Would they be okay with that?"

"They don't have much of a choice, what else are they going to do? We're all dead for one reason or another."

"What even killed that many people?"

"Oh- a number of things actually, the Victorian folks seemed to just get themselves killed, Mob related stuff went down in the twenties and then this _fucking_ cult made home in the seventies-"

"What about you?"

She looks back at him, tilting her head.

"How- how did you die? If you're able to say, sorry that's probably really inconsiderate-"

"No, it's fine. I mean, I was kinda pissed at first but then again I was never really able to commit to anything, except for death, I guess." She sat down on the edge of the bed, drumming her fingers on the edge of her knees. "I was driving- actually no, Tessy was driving. We were on our way back from a party I'd thrown for our friend, she was getting married the next month so we had to do _something._ Anyway, we ended up running out of fuel half-way along the road and- Well..."

* * *

_Ask the people at the big house thing for help, then leave. That was the plan._

_The plan went to shit._

_Huddled against a brick wall, hiding from god knows who the fuck these people are._

_"They're going to kill us."_

_"You worry too much-"_

_"I'm not "worrying too much", Colleen, I'm serious we're legitimately going to get fucking stabbed. They have knives!"_

_"Could be for cake..."_

_Her friend took a deep breath, screwing her eyes shut and muttering a faint "jesus christ" under her breath, trying to think._

_"If we run, they'll catch us. It's two against like- more than two."_

_"They can only catch one of us."_

_"That's not how running works, Colleen, they won't stop at one of us."_

_"Unless there's a distraction."_

_"It's just us, there's no-"_

_"Get that petrol and get to the car, I'll meet you there."_

"What?"

 _"I said get the petrol can and_ get to the fucking car. _If I'm not there after a couple minutes, and they're coming, just go. Dutch courage, I'm fine."_

_"But-"  
_

_"I'll be there."_

_Giving her one last frown, she lets go of Colleen's hand, making a break for cover and moving to the outer wall of the property where neither of them should've explored from in the first place. Looking at the bottle in her hand and taking a deep breath, Colleen hit the end against the brick wall, the end of it cracking open and the dark liquid seeping out and into the dirt, leaving a (hopefully) effective make-shift weapon in her grip._

_Once her companion was far enough away, she rounded the corner, lunging towards the nearest figure with her own defence._

It didn't work.

 _A figure grabs her wrist, nulling her attack in a second, leaving her to stare straight up at the face under the hood, gruff and snarling and_ really fucking pissed. _Kicking her feet out from under her and sending her to the ground, the glass falling out of her hand. He steps back, muttering something to those around him as hands shove at her shoulders and ankles, the green glint of the bottle flicking in the moonlight as it's picked up, jagged edges tilted down towards her, and brought down hard against her gut, tearing into her skin._

_Over, and over, again._

* * *

"Then for some reason, I just, stayed? Woke up like nothing was wrong and I've been here ever since."

"I'm... I don't know if I'll remember like, _any_ of that, nevermind for everyone else here."

"Then why not write it down or something? Get a notebook."

Now that's not a bad _idea…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nfdndkdk this was rushed also HAPPY NEW YEAR-


	2. Day 2 - White Flag (never going up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tws for slight gore, blood, swearing and referenced mob activity. Also more murder but you don't see it go down so-

_"There's Andrea- Brooks. We have two Andreas, don't worry, they're pretty easy to tell apart. She's from the twenties, last one from that lot. Anyway, AB's got this whole dark mistress vibe going on- she's just really freaking cool. I can't wait for you to meet her."_

* * *

"Yo, Brooks! Thought I'd find you here. I've got someone for you to meet! This is Joey, the new owner."

Tearing his attention away from frantically swivelling his head to check down every corridor he and Colleen passed, he takes a second to acknowledge the woman now in front of him. Swinging her legs off of the desktop as she looks away from the window, leaning forward to rest her chin against the heel on her hand. Ot strikes him how _together_ she looks- she's almost _pristine_. A black and white ensemble, strands of copper hair effortlessly curled around her face, dark makeup- the only thing out of place being the deep gash in her temple, the blood trickling down her cheek, practically matching her lipstick in a way that he actually finds _morbidly impressive._

"I thought you killed him?"

" _Unfortunately, no,_ but! This is a chance for something new around here, so I'm showing him around and introducing everyone! Hearing about death and all that jazz."

"... Of course you are. Right then- pull up a seat."

He does just that, sheepishly settling down in the seat opposite her, taking out his new notebook and scrawling her name at the top, along with a couple other things: basic description, time period, things to help him remember- eventually looking up to her again, getting a slight smirk in response.

"So you're going around finding out how everyone kicked the bucket, huh? Guess you want to hear mine."

"You're okay with telling me?"

"Well, you'd find out one way or another..."

* * *

_Death. Funny little thing._

_She didn't think she'd go out like this- this was never the plan._

_Then again, when all's said and done, at least she's a better shot. That Journalist, Gutowski's, hand lies limp on the floor, body obscured by the mahogany desk in the centre of the Mob's main office, a bullet lodged in her heart and no breath left in her lungs. A job well done as far as Andrea's concerned._

_With her head stinging like a bitch as the blood seeps from her wound, her vision blurring as the room starts to spin around her, Andrea thinks of what she's done._

_She thinks of Timothy, her closest companion, her partner in crime, his body lying in her arms he bleeds out against her, the handle of his gun resting cold against the tips of her fingers as her breaths get shallower by the second, only a couple bullets left in the chamber now. She'll hold him close in whatever heart she has left, if that's any at this rate, but she'll hold him close all the same. Matthew too. After all of this, she hopes he's at peace now._

_She did what she had to do._

_As for the others, if she sees that Little Lady Furtado again, she'll have to applaud the stubborn heiress for her guts, because boy did she have some. She can still picture their faces as her head hit the floor, blood splattering the concrete as her eyes glazed over, porcelain skin draining dull as the life left her. She'd never heard them so damn silent after losing a hostage, and she never heard it again._

_As for Gutowski- White too for that matter- part of her would gladly die here knowing that at least they never caught her, or Tim, alive- and that they lost their own lives in the process._

_In her last moments, Andrea hears footsteps, voices too. Cops, probably, finding the two (soon enough) dead bodies within the room. A smile settles on her face, one that stays as she takes her final breath, shallow in with a slow exhale._

_In a way, they still won._

_It wasn't the original plan, sure._

_But it sure as hell beat getting taken in alive._

* * *

"... To conclude, shot down by our _dear_ Miss Gutowski- don't worry yourself over it, Joey, frankly, her bark's worse than her bite."

Her vaguely amused smile seems to catch him off guard, pen hovering over paper as his brain tries to turn words into sentences, ending in a ten-second scramble of notes and a smile that he hopes reads as _"polite gratitude"_ and _not_ " _gay panic"_ from the realisation that he was sitting opposite the right hand to a mob boss.

_Shit he's going to have to meet him too, isn't he?_

"I suppose you'll be heading on now. I'll go tell the others of your little plan, Colleen, get everyone to make themselves presentable for once.

Colleen grinned, giving the woman a thumbs up as she picked herself up out of her chair, smoothing out her outfit before making her way to the door behind them.

"Oh, and Joey?"

"Yes?"

He turned his head, coming face to face with another smirk, her eyes darkening despite her warm expression.

 _"Do_ stay out of trouble, we wouldn't want anything to... _Happen_ to you _."_

And with another smile, she's gone in the blink of an eye.


	3. Day 3 - Down The River In A Bubble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs. Referenced and strongly implied drug use. Themes of suicide contemplation. Implied murder. Lil bit of gore.
> 
> Stay safe guys!! <3

_"Jc's a hoot. His name's Justin but we just call him that- I can't remember whether the "c" is from his middle or last name but he's Jc all the same. He can get a little spacey sometimes but honestly, he's a breath of fresh air amongst all the angst and gloom around here. C'mon, he's usually outside."_

* * *

Joey spots him soon enough as he and Colleen walk through the field, past the old outhouse, the stone walls dipping away as they approached the small docks, looking out on the river that ran by the edge of the property. A figure lay on the grass, splotches of sandy beige and burnt oranges curled in the greenery, rolling over and lifting its head with Colleen's call, a languid wave of acknowledgement as he flopped back down. 

Picking up her pace, she hurried over towards him, barreling down onto the grass, her coat spilling out around her the sound of her chattering away floated through the air, seemingly informing him of her plan by the time Joey finally made his way over.

"Jc, Joey. Joey, Jc!"

"Hey."

The man let out a soft _"yeooo"_ sitting himself up, crossing his legs and letting his hands fall to his knees, rocking in his seat as a soft grin fell over his face.

"If you're looking for death stories, you're in the wrong place, sorry dude."

"H-huh?"

Joey's eyes take a moment to scan him over, clearly noting the multiple punctures in his abdomen, crimson blood blotting the frayed edges of each hole in his shirt. Which was quite a lot.

"Oh- Jc was the first one of our batch- seventies. No one really expected anyone to show up, so no one saw it happen."

"I was pretty out of it, so I don't remember a thing. Just woke up here, dead." An chuckle breaks from his throat. "Right now, we just say that I managed to walk into a knife wall or something."

_Hold on._

“Are you… are you high?”

The ghost looks at him, before a smile cracks across his face, holding his tongue between his teeth. 

“Just a _little_ bit…” He half-slurs, despite the fact he’s holding his thumb and pointer as wide as they can go, breaking down into another fit of amused laughter, rolling back into Colleen's side, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as they giggle, the daises rising up through the palms of their hands, swaying in the wind.

Joey's almost done putting down what he actually gathered from their short conversation into his book, when he sees a hand rise into the air, pointing at the passing clouds as a voice follows it.

"Yo, look! It's Ki saying hi-"

"Jay..."

Colleen pushed herself up on her elbow, reaching out and lacing her fingers with his, tugging his arm back down to the ground, giving him a seemingly reassuring shake alongside her slightly forced smile.

"What've we said about that?"

He just seemed to look at her, not saying a word, before rolling over onto his side, though not trying to take his hand away.

"We... should probably go. Make sure you're back in your room before sunset, okay?"

" _'Aight..._ "

She pauses leaning over and pressing a kiss to the back of his hand before she lets go, glancing down at him one more time as she finally rose to her feet, running her fingers through her hair and signalling for Joey to follow her, leaving the boy to lie in the sun again, in his own little bubble away from the world.

* * *

_He always seems to follow along the river, round the bend as the summer sun beats down in his face by day, and the midnight breeze whipping around his throat when it goes down. The cycle repeats, if it didn't, he probably wouldn't be able to tell time anymore in this rabbit hole he keeps falling down. The river keeps babbling onwards, tugging at his memories and taunting him as he doesn't dare stray too close to its edge._

_Part of him still wants to jump right in._

_He doesn't know where he's going at this rate, his hands digging into his pockets and his feet scraping the dirt. If he's lucky he'll end up home again, blacked out on his couch and not waking until it's a few hours from sunset. If he's unlucky, the same thing'll happen in a field._

_So he keeps walking. Down by the river that keeps calling his name. He keeps walking. Down towards flickering lamplight, glowing like pieces of the harvest moon, broken and trapped in crystal cages, they're calling for him too, screaming like the creek of the gates to hell. He keeps walking. Something tugging on his shoulder and death itself staring him in the face. Regrets, the reaper's minions, circling him._

_He isn't walking anymore._

_A feeling floods over him, a numbness swirling around his head in a vortex that keeps moving in harder against his skull, rising from his gut._

_But he isn't in the river either- even if his life just washes away._

* * *

_"Who's "Ki"?"_

_"... Kian. He's not one of the ghosts here- just a name he keeps bringing up. We don't know whether he's an imaginary friend or something like that, or just something Jc can see, but we usually try to steer him away from it, he can stare at the bank for hours when he gets in one of those states."_

_"Have you ever asked him?"_

_"You try getting a straight answer from that."_

_"... You have a point."_


	4. Day 4 - Raise A Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: poison, betrayal, more mob activity bc ayeeeeeee 20s--

_"Shane's the first of the century. He tends to act all dark and mysterious but then he spends a night going on about either conspiracy theories or how he should be eternally hungry even if he can't and doesn't want to eat anything, it's a blast."_

* * *

The faint murmur of conversation floats down the hallway as Joey follows Colleen's lead through yet another section of the house he hasn't been to yet, the value words slowly turning into what just sounded like... Letters and numbers

_"B-9?"_

_"Miss."_

_"Awh Dang!"_

_"How do you keep missing? We've been playing this exact set-up for the past seventeen years, Tim."_

_"Give me a break dude I don't have time to be memorising damn coordinates!"_

"I thought you two were done with bickering..."

"Yo, Colleen go tell me his points!"

"I'm not helping you cheat, jesus. Also, I have something for you to do."

"And what might that be?"

Sliding aside to reveal an already awkward Joey, she beamed, throwing up some jazz hands to accent the introduction. 

"This is Joey, he's the new owner, I'm showing him around. Blah blah learning about death and shit."

"Sounds fun!" The man, apparently "Tim", chirped, a grin on his face that didn't exactly out Joey's stomach to rest. Though maybe that was the blood seeping out of the man's own gut.

Then the other- leather jacket and, as far as Joey was concerned- a slightly more "at peace vibe", a cocked smirk on his face.

The odd thing was, this one didn't exactly look _dead._ Maybe a little sickly but other than that, just a man on an off day.

"Name's Shane- Shane Dawson. Used to work for this guy here and well... Didn't end on the best of terms, did we?"

* * *

_This, and then no more._

_He keeps that sentence in his head all the while. This mission, and then he'll be gone. For good this time._

_Even if they tolerate his habit of going off the grid practically every other week, it's only a matter of time before they find out about his- well... Contact with the "outside"._

_It's risky as hell but god does it pay, rounding up to enough to get out soon enough, out for good. Even if they don't give him enough for all he does, he certainly knows the reward for turning them in._

_So he's got one last mission._

_That's what Tim's briefing him on, a smile on his face like he's none the wiser, as usual._

_A knock on the door cuts the conversation short, Andrea stepping in with a pair of glasses on a tray, setting it down between them._

_"Now, " He starts, picking up a glass and raising it, "a toast! To you, of course."_

_"Thank you, and to you too. To success."_

_"To success indeed."_

After the clink of they each down their drinks, Tim shaking his hand before he stands up, turning hell and nodding to the woman still standing by the door.

"All the best, Miss Brooks."

_"Farewell, Renegade."_

_Renegade?_

_He can hear the smile lacing the normal neutrality of her voice, a cocky kind of grin when she knows she's won, the glint in her eye when something goes to plan for them. Time seems to stand still when he realises why._

_He knows what "renegade" means._

_**Traitor.** _

_There isn't even the chance to ask for clarification before his stomach lurches, hand hitting the door hard as he tries to stabilise himself, his own blood splattering the dark wood, Any breathe he sucks in just gets replaced with more blood, knees hitting the floor as any energy he has gets diverted to trying to stay the hell alive, it's hardly a minute before his head hits the floor too._

_He knows it's hopeless._

_He knows that they know that too._

* * *

"Almost got away with it too- don't blame them frankly."

"Dude, I probably died because of you leaking information! What the hell!"

"Tim- _you_ _killed me."_

He paused for a moment, then clicking his fingers with an "oh _yeah_ , well, agree that technically we both deserved it?"

"... I can live with that."

"Heh, live."

"What about you, Timmy? Want to recount _your_ tragic tale?"

For some reason, it's at this point that something clicks in Joey's head.

_Andrea Brooks, seated at the right hand of the biggest Mob Boss of the roaring twenties._

_"Timothy"_

_And oh._

_This is that guy, isn't it?_

_He's already met him too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fnfnfncn I'm almost late so it's not v good but hEY HO ON TIME AT LEAST-


	5. Day 5 - Partners In Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: guns and gun violence, swearing, supernatural ghost shit again, mob activity, blood mentions

_"Don't let Andrea scare you- Tim's actually pretty down to earth for a Mob Boss, odd to think he's basically responsible was like... half a dozen of the deaths here."_

* * *

"Nice to meet you. Name's Timothy Chantarangsu."

Smiling, he stands up and holds out his hand, leaving Joey in the awkward dilemma of "do I tell them" for the second time.

"If you can't touch Battleships, you can hardly shake the man's hand, Tim."

"Then can I offer him a first bump instead?" 

"Uh... Sure" he brings a now closed fist towards the ghost's, both somehow managing to pull off a decent fist bump despite there being no way for physical contact. Well, it was an attempt none the less.

"So- Once upon a time there was this incredible guy called Ti-"

"Get to the point, Timothy." 

"Okay! Jeez tough crowd."

* * *

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

_This isn't good._

_He's surprised he's not dead from the multiple bullets likely lodged in his gut as he keels back behind cover, local journalist Eva Gutowski standing around the corner with a gun in her hand and a really fucking pissed off look on her face._

_She's here because of Oli, isn't she?_

_That or it's because he just shot her in the leg. Either or._

_But anyway, if she's here for him..._

_He needs to get to Andrea._

_Timothy knows this estate upside down, all the entrances and exits, anywhere to hide, but hiding won't do him any good._

_Sliding through a gap that's way to narrow to allow his hand to press to his wounds, he goes as fast as he can, pistol at his hip, trying to pick up his pace._

_It takes him two more doors than he'd have liked (so five- "if do you succeed try again" and "third times a charm" and all that) to finally land in the room with the person he's looking for, the book she was looking at dropping from her hands as she sees him, her constantly calm demeanour hitting the floor alongside it._

_"What the hell? Tim?- jesus christ sit down."_

_She rushes to his side as he practically collapses, falling back against her holding on to her hand like it'd help him somehow._

_"Eva's out there. She's got a gun and- fuck- Andrea you need to go-"_

_"No."_

_"What-"_

_"Bitch's probably got the fucking Coppers on the way, the plan doesn't stand a chance, same with me."_

_"Andy..."_

_"It'll be okay- she's not getting away with this, trust me. It's personal now."_

_"Just, Andrea?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_It takes him a second to realise he doesn't have the words. God, he owes his life to this girl and then some, and would give in up for her in a heartbeat too. "Where would I be without you?" The toast rings through his head as he starts to lose it, blood continuously seeping out no matter what they try, and her grin at the other end of the table as their glasses stand triumphantly in the air after each little battle they overcame. "Nowhere like here", the reply, a cheer following before they had their drinks._

_But she was right, every single time she was right. Even toast to their success, it's all because of her._

_And he owes his life to her, for helping him to create this._

_And luckily she seems to get it, pulling him into a close hug as his senses begin to escape him, taking his gun out and holding it up to her._

_"Just try for me..."_

_"...I will. But I'm making her pay first."_

_"I wouldn't expect anything else."_

_With that, she smiles, taking her gun and pulling the cushion from the chair to rest his head on as she leaves his side, he door clicking behind her as she heads out, footsteps rumbling through the floorboards._

_He trusts her. More than someone can imagine, so he trusts her to pull this off._

_Whatever "this" is going it be._

* * *

"So... "Eva" got you too?"

"You could say that- you met her?"

"Not yet- Andrea mentioned her. She seems like- " Mob enemy number one"."

"Guess you could say that."

Joey taps his notebook for a second, flipping to a different page.

"How many of you is there? From the twenties?" 

"... Shane-"

"Ten."

"Ten, knew that."

"And, uh, who's on your side? The Mob's side."

"Oh- That'll be Andrea, me, Matt- Shane are you in our side?"

"You _killed_ me."

"Yeah I know but- still."

"... I stay civil with them."

"And then the others- aren't the biggest of fans. Though Oli-"

"Oli is _not_ on your side."

"Okay okay! Jeez. But yeah, us three and then the others."

"And me."

"And Shane."

"And that's about it."

"Okay," Joey mutters, scribbling down the information in two columns- hopefully preventing him from bringing the wrong person up in a future conversation. Hopefully. 

"So Colleen, how are you-"

"Well that should be all for now, that's guys!" 

None of the boys can say another word before she's made a bee-line straight _through_ the door again, probably waiting on the other side as far as Joey knows.

So he bids his farewells, says his thank-yous, and hurries back out the door to Colleen, and the waiting tour.

God, he's hardly even through them... This is going to take a while, isn't it?


	6. Day 6 - Firestarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy more warnings than usual- tws: _**a r s o n**_ , arguments, tiniest mention of attempted sexual assault, mentions of cult activity, fire, blood, lives, yet more supernatural spoopy doopy, referenced murder, burning things and people, a LOT of swearing.

_"So you know how the west wing is ever so slightly burnt down? Yeah, that was Nikita. She's the most recent ghost here- showed up in '78 or so? Managed to take down the entire cult with her out of spite. Don't piss her off. Even if we can't touch things, I'm pretty sure_ _Nikita would find a way to light you up if you crossed a line."_

* * *

The west wing was the first thing to creep Joey out. He'd stopped outside the main door, seeing the charred floorboard and smog stain curtain railings, and had " _noped_ " the fuck back to literally anywhere else in the estate. Now he was walking right into it again.

_He really hopes the floor is structurally sound._

"If she died in here then why is she still hanging out here? Wouldn't it bring like- bad memories?"

"'Kita's _proud,_ she'd gladly stand in the middle of a burning room as long as _she_ was the one who started it- and speak of the devil herself."

_He guesses that's her._

A blonde sitting in the window seat: her hot-pink dress charred black at the bottom with blood-red accents at her side, white boots almost grey, and a golden lighter in her hand. Orange flames lick at the air as she flicks it on, lets it go, and repeats. He can practically see the glow in her eyes as she went over the cycle again and again.

As they swing the door open, she doesn't even raise her head, only glancing up at them as they step in. 

"Whatcha want 'Lena?"

"I've not taken one step in the room and you're sassing me? _Love_ the nickname though." 

The girl frowns, swinging her feet to the floor and striding over, starting up at Colleen with a look that he's pretty sure could win a competition (even if her opponent seems fairly amused at the fact she's being looked _up_ at.)

"Thought he died?"

_Well. At least she's acknowledged his presence._

"Unfortunately not, _but,_ I am showing him around! So if you'd kindly recount your _oh so heroic fight to the death_ then we'll be on our way-" 

"You collecting stories, huh?"

It takes him a moment to realise her comment was directed at him

"Oh- yeah, if that's okay."

"Of course-" she turned her attention back up, a smirk slipping across her face, "I'm _sure_ you can see my legacy."

* * *

_Nikita's blood is boiling, and they're a bunch of lucky fucks that she can't use her metaphorically scalding-hot blood as a weapon._

_They've already gotten her a handful of times, the wound in her thigh slowing her pace to a rapid limp, her arm latched around her side and her other almost limp, tucked into the dip of her elbow with a bottle clasped in her grip, her shoulder stinging like a motherfucking bitch. Then again, with the amount of brought down bookshelves, toes crushed under her heels, and the fact she's kneed more guys in the groin than on a normal night when some dickhead had tried to set a hand on her or a friend on a night out for the umpteenth time, she's pretty sure it's a level enough playing field._

_She knows she's going to die for this- whether it's all the shit she's done, from getting fucking stabbed again, or just from these wounds alone. But she doesn't care._

_They're going to fucking pay._

_Images of her best friend dance through her head. His voice in her ear and his hand in hers dragging her along to whatever stupid adventure they'd go on next but he was hers and she loved him and they fucking took him away._

_And now he's never coming back._

_So frankly, Nikita feels like her current actions are perfectly justifiable when taken into the proper context, and just because she's found herself cornered doesn't mean she won't go down without one hell of a fight._

_"Where you gonna run now, troublemaker?"_

_She whips around as the voice snarls from behind her, the man looming in the doorway, his boots thudding against the floorboards, blade shining in his hand._

_"Piss off."_

" _Just give up."_

_"Fucking make me."_

_She uncapped the bottle in her hands, tipping its contents across the bottom of the curtains and around the room, tossing the empty glass into his hands, drops splattering the bottom of his cloak._

_Falling to her knees as she lost more strength, she grabbed her lighter, the flame flickering in her eyes as she brought it to the damp material, fire bursting up the wall, swirling along the alcohol paths lining the floor, and finally reaching her enemy._

_The ends of his robes ignited, orange climbing up the black as he yelled, dropping his knife as he desperately tried to put himself out, which just made it worse. With Nikita looking on, the fire consumed him, screams breaking from the mass of light ahead of her. Music to her ears, frankly. Then he's silent, smog filling the room up around her as her breaths rattle through her head._

_So with the sound of the blaze around her, smoke pumping through her lungs and bellowing out her mouth and nose like the dragon she is, blood building up in her throat and on her dress, she grins, charred but victorious._

_Because she won._

_She so fucking won._

* * *

"And then, with their "leader" dead, most of just fucked-off or something, and therefore I saved all of you-"

"You didn't _save_ anyone. You almost burnt our home to the fucking floor. You're lucky the fire bridge was called or we would've had nothing left. Alex almost lost his mind again- you're lucky Manny was there or he'd've taken your fucking head off."

"Xander's too soft, I could take him. Besides, I stopped em, didn't I? Probably saved at least person, right? Did _you_ do anything worthwhile? At least have a nice time at that dumb little party before you got yourself-"

" _Shut up!"_

The snarl rips through the air like the sound of an engine, tearing from Colleen's lips as shooting out into the air around her.

Nikita doesn't flinch. To Colleen's apparent disgust, a sweet smile spreads across her face, sugar coating her voice as she speaks.

"Well, I guess you'll be on your way... Have a lovely day~"

The brunette doesn't even say goodbye, turning on her heel and walking through the door again, probably waiting on the other side for Joey to leave too.

"Uh- quick question?"

_"What?"_

"How do you have a lighter? One that works?"

"This old thing? It's mine- I died with it and I guess it stuck with me. Basically just an effect though, " she flips the lid, and with another motion, a flame sparks up from the metal, "no heat."

She passes her hand through the fire, her gaze staying steady all the while.

"Practically cold."

"Ah... Okay. Well uh- have a nice night."

"You too... I guess."

With that, he slips out of the room, and as expected, facing Colleen once again.

"What was-"

" _Don't."_

"Oh- okay. Um, I... I might head in for the night, go to my room-"

"The big one?"

"That's Alex and Lauren's."

"It's _what?"_

"Hey- you could take mine! It's a little dusty but pretty nice! I'm sure I could ask Saffy if I could stay with her for the time being-"

"Uh- thanks but I think I might just... Camp in my car for now."

"Oh, " her shoulders seemed to deflate even more "well, that's fine! I shall... See you tomorrow?" 

"Of course. Good night then?"

"Night..."

Before he can say another word, the woman slips through a wall again, disappearing like she was never there in the first place.

Then he realises, he's still in the west wing...

_God, he really hopes he doesn't run into anything now._


	7. Day 7 - A Ghost Among Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly there should just be a tw for how mean I'm being to Teala again-
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> TWs: swearing, cult activity, gassing (tear gas grenade), confined spaces, betrayal, violence and murder babEY. the briefest mention of suicide mission but it's blink and you'll miss it
> 
> I do love Teala and it gets better for her I promise--

_"Colleen?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"When we first talked you said something about there being twenty-eight ghosts, but only twenty-seven that I needed to care about? Who's twenty-eight?"_

_"You don't need to-"_

_"If I talk to everyone else I want to at least get a name."_

_"Well, I don't know it."_

_"... What?"_

_"Somehow one of the cultists apparently got tangled up in here after dying- you can't miss them, black cape and all that. It was before my time. We don't see them much, they're probably too ashamed of what they and their friends did, good riddance. Only a couple of people have seen them, the rest of us don't bother looking."_

_"When did you last see them?"_

_"I don't even know."_

* * *

_Hopefully,_ Joey can sleep tonight- God he'll need it at this rate. 

The pitter-pat of his footsteps bounce off the walls as he walks, trying to remember his way out after following Colleen, without really paying any attention to where he was actually going. 

Being cautious by checking around each corner _still_ didn't prepare him for the half-heart-attack he went through when he saw a figure in long black robes at the other end of the hallway, one that quickly moved the other way upon seeing him too.

_Hold on._

"Hey- wait!"

_This isn't going to kill him._

_Right?_

They kept moving.

"Wait- I just want to talk. I'm not here to hurt you- please just wait!"

To his surprise, the figure stopped, looking over their shoulder, hood still obscuring their face. 

"Why..?"

The question practically routed him to his spot. That was _not_ the voice he was expecting. _Female,_ for a start, soft-spoken and breaking at the edges.

"I- I'm Joey. I'm, uh, the new owner. I'm trying to talk to every ghost here since I can see you-"

"How can you..?"

"Colleen pushed me over a railing-"

" _What?"_

"-but that's beside the point. Can I talk to you? Even for a bit, if you'd maybe tell me about yourself and uh- how you ended up here? If you can?"

She paused, a gloved hand moving out from under the robes, becoming him to follow as she turned, slipping further down the hallway.

Trailing behind her, they ended up in a small enough room, likely for storage when it was actually in use. A couple chairs, one laying with a broken leg on the floor. She slid down the wall beside it, crossing her legs and leaning against the wood, motioning for him to take a seat. 

Slipping her hands up to the hood of her cloak, she tugged it down, looking up at him for the first time, letting the material slump around her shoulders.

The face that greets him does _not_ look like what he thought one of the cult members would be. Long, black hair with strays curling around the crown of her head, dark skin that tints red around her nose and lips, and bloodshot eyes that look like she's either gone through a nasty cold, or she's been crying for the past forty-something years. 

"What- what happened?"

"They... They found out."

* * *

_She doesn't even know how she made it this far. Between her stubborn defiance and stupid pride, she'd landed herself in nothing short of a suicide mission, either way, she thought she might be able to make it._

_Emphasis on "might"._

_There was always the nagging feeling in her gut, that they'd catch her out. This wasn't a bunch of people going overboard with some random greater being, it was more than serious. Deadly._

_H_ _er mind still rings back to the man she'd seen walk in one night, and the body she'd seen carried out the next morning. Even if it was "accidental", it was still the first death she'd seen, despite not even being there. How many others were there? Christ, they didn't even count._

_He'd smiled at her, a passing wave that didn't know any the wiser. Part of her wishes she could've done something._

_Her journal couldn't be hidden, leading to her scattering information throughout the "helpful notes" she'd been taking- "getting to know the system" and all that, settling for a lock when she couldn't have it at her side._

_God, why did she think that would work._

_Her throat runs dry as she sees Nicolas standing there, looming at the other side of the room, journal in his hands as he calmly reads out her notes, picking out all the little things that she would've taken back to the station the moment she got enough to get out of here._

_"Very attentive, aren't ya Blue?"_

_She can't move._

_"Shame this'll go to waste."_

_She can't breathe._

_"After all, work tends to be far more valuable when the creator is dead."_

_Any attempt she makes to get out of there proves futile as he lunges forward, wrapping a hand around her throat and lifting her into the air like she was already dead weight, slamming her head against the frame of the door, her hands falling limp at her sides as she reeled, crying out._

_Tears ball up in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as she tried to gasp for air. It doesn't work._

_She kicks out into nothing as they move down the corridor, grasping up at a hand that wouldn't move an inch. Her head's spinning, pain searing through her skull as the lack of oxygen starts to kick in, only coming back as be drops her to the floor, a gasp for air being forced back out of her in a choked sob as he lands a blow on her stomach, a crunch under his shoe as he reaches into another room, a fuzzy shape in his hand as he leans down again, digging his fingers into her hair and pulling hard._

_Screams echo against the walls, but no one stirs. Not a soul even coming to see what it was while she desperately tries to fight against the figure dragging her to somewhere she's too scared to think about._

_When he finally let go, all she heard was the click of a door. A hand grabbed her cloak, shoving her inside what she's pretty sure was a storage cupboard, half her height and hardly used, one she'd passed dozens of times. There's a click, and metal hitting the floor at her feet, the door closing again._

_Fuck._

_Gas bellows out, filling the space around her, flooding into her lungs as she shrieks, coughing immediately as pain sparks up, flaring throughout her body._

_Tear gas._

_Teala knows this- while technically not deadly, in a confined space like this-_

_She thumps on the door. It doesn't budge._

_\- she's done for._

_She screws her eyes shut, shoving and pounding against the door with many strength she has left. Of she can get into fresh air then she might be able to stay alive- even if they'd kill her some other way._

_Her arms grow tired in time she's already lost track of, her body slumping against the door as she chokes up any hope she had left, a final broken plea barely breaking to the other side of the wood._

_As if anyone was listening in the first place._

* * *

"As you can probably see... No one came." Even if the slight smile she musters is supposed to be comforting, she just looks like she's about to cry again, "I'm probably still in there... I haven't exactly checked. I don't go out much."

"Why not?"

"You've heard from the others, right? A bunch of them died because of this group and I'm here dressed up exactly like one of them. I don't want to bring back any bad memories. Besides, I find ways to pass time."

"Like what?"

"Sometimes if I lie down for long enough I- it's not exactly sleeping, more like, uh, losing consciousness for a while? That... Helps? I guess."

"You can't even, like, try talking to the others?" 

"I don't want to risk it."

He sighs, slowly nodding. He can't _force_ anything- it's not his place. 

"It's getting late... I should let you go. Thank- thank you for coming? Sorry- I don't really know what to say."

"It's okay. I'm glad I ran into you."

She smiles again, tear-stained but genuine, picking herself up and pulling the hood over her head. Upon his request, she cautiously helps him out of the west wing, bidding him goodbye and disappearing into a wall as soon as they the exit. 

It's a new minutes before he's finally settled in his car, blankets pulled up around him and notebook on knees, opening to a new page and uncapping his pen, titling it with the name that'd popped up someway through her story.

_Teala Dunn._

Well... At least now he knows. 

And if he can do something about it, the rest of them will come to know it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its like 1am on a school night and I'm writing what's basically whump
> 
> WHELP


	8. Day 8 - Blood Money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tws: hanging, gambling, mob activity, slight alcohol mention, a brief bit of eating talk and thanks Tea (who's helping me tag all these for triggers) this did not occur to me but if that's something that gets to you than here's your tag, stay safe guys!!

_"You'll like Justine. She's a little tricky at times if you've got any money on you, but she's actually kinda sweet when you get to know her. Another one of those twenties folks. Managed to set the mob on a spiral that almost got them caught out. Didn't end well."_

* * *

Joey tugs his coat tighter around his shoulders in the mid-autumn breeze as he steps back inside the house, the rising sun beaming through the windows and onto the floor, dust glowing in the air as it floats past. He swears he saw a figure mulling around the old barn, some kind of red jacket more wandering back and forth through the few trees dotted about. Must just be another ghost.

As somewhat of a surprise, he finds Colleen sitting i the stairs, seemingly waiting for him in a bored recline, sitting up when she hears the creak of the door.

"Oh- mornin' Joey!"

"Good morning! Got my book- where are we off to today?" 

"Well- I talked to a few people, and everyone seems pretty chill with our gameplan! So- just waiting here for-"

_"Me, by any chance?"_

They both looks up towards the voice- a figure backlit by the sunlight, glowing above them like some kind of angel, despite Colleen's mutter of "speak of the devil". Gracefully descending down the steps, a woman with blonde hair and a fancy white dress, satin gloves and gem headpiece, flushed skin and a deep purple bruise circling her throat. Even so, she looked practically ethereal. 

"Grand entrance much?"

"You know me."

"That's true. Oh- Joey, this is Justine. Justine, Joey."

"Ah, so you're really not good at this whole _" murder"_ thing, are you Colleen?"

"It's happened _twice_ now I asked you here for a reason."

"Oh- of course, " the woman straightens out her dress, carefully sitting down on the edge of the stairs, "where shall I begin?"

* * *

_Innocent or guilty, how does one plead?_

_In the world she thrives in, you don't get a chance. Your actions speak for themselves._

_Justine Ezarik knows this- after all, she makes a living off rejecting pleads, she simply sits at her table, dealer behind it and whoever wants to try their luck sitting around her. It doesn't even need to be rigged, half of her profits to the casino and she doesn't get a limit, practically as close to the place's heart as it's money._

_"The woman with the golden hair and a deadly hand".  
_

_Needless to say, she doesn't lose._

_One overconfident drunkard to the next, full of enough Dutch courage to bet their existences away, always leaving the table when they ran out. Hell, she'd have people waiting on her hand and foot if she played by those rules, though at least she leaves them with at least a shred of self-respect left._

_She's sat alone as the tables around run through the usual bustle, cheers and cries ringing through the air as dreams make or break. From across the room, a couple saunter in, well dressed yet still somewhat out of place in a place like this, grey and black ensembles against the vibrant lights and red velvet ropes. The woman waves a staff member over, muttering something in his ear which causes him to look over, pointing her over towards Justine, meeting the gambler's eyes from across foyer before looking back to her accomplice._

_Justine turns back to the dealer, inquiring if he'd seen them in here before. He hadn't._

_Rising as they finally approach, the woman held out her hand to Justine while the man mutters something to the one behind the table, who quickly slips out of the way._

_"You two here for a round?"_

_"Not currently, thank you. Miss Ezarik, I presume?"_

_She takes her hand, shaking it. "You stand correct."_

_"Good. Andrea Brooks- this is Timothy Chantarangsu. We own a speakeasy further downstate, we were wondering if you'd care to pay us a visit some evening? We have a business proposition for you."_

_"Business? I'm not currently busy, you could save time and ask me here if you so wished."_

_"I'm afraid this is a matter we'd rather be discussed on our own grounds in private. I'm sure we could find you a way down there if you were interested?"_

_Something about the people in front her made her fairly certain that she was, and it was less than a week before she found herself face to face with them, sitting in an office inside probably one of the largest building she'd set foot in, past the blaring music and chatter, through the otherwise empty hallways. A speakeasy, but she got the feeling it was far more than met the eyes of its patrons._

_To have her suspicions confirmed- Mafia._

_She gives them a cut of her winnings, and they keep her on top._

_But Justine was the golden girl, someone no one could or would beat, why would she need their help?_

_There was probably a higher ransom on their heads, after all, and this place would make a fine home if it ever closed..._

_Of course, she could by far afford it already._

_So she accepted- to keep them happy at least, and paid the driver to take her to the nearest police station after bidding them a sweet goodbye._ _She'd "heard" of some nearby "criminal activity" taking place at the speakeasy, advising them to "take a look". They thanked her, and on she went, one step closer to firmly staying where she'd been for so long._

_They clearly must not have taken it too well._

_So here she stands on air, looked up at by the gathering crowd of members, her golden pendent necklace replaced with one of woven hemp, the shadow of a figure behind her, arms across their chest as they present the first-hand example of why a rat shall not be tolerated. Guilty of the crime, the punishment shall be what they see it._

_Thirty feet up, a warning for them to see._

* * *

Okay so _clearly_ something is up. 

Both the girls sit there seemingly unfazed, while Joey can't help feeling a little lost for words.

"How- How are you so calm about this?"

"I've heard it before."

"And _I_ am a gambler- my whole shit is keeping a straight face, old habits die hard."

"So... How do you actually feel then."

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know." Her blunt tone catches him off guard, something she notices. "Sorry- another one. Still works though. Well, I'll leave you two to it! See ya around~"

The goodbyes fade out slightly as her story rings through his head. _Tim and Andrea did that?_ Andrea- after her rather ominous departure- he could kinda expect it from, but Tim? If Tim was the leader, how much more dead was he than second in command? 

_He figures that looks can just be deceiving, even after his first impression of the mobster._

Colleen grabs his attention back, snapping her fingers in front of his face after he kinda zoned out into some state of mild gay-fear again at what else might be lurking in the walls.

"Here- have you eaten? People still need to do that, right?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Bitch, I've been dead for over forty fucking years, I don't know how far technology and shit has come."

"So we don't need to _eat?_ Either way, no I haven't."

"Well then- you go get some food and I'll try hunt down Sierra- she's usually up early but the bitch practically needs a booked appointment to be formally addressed so it'd probably be good to get that out of the way while we haven't yet _greatly offended the princess._ "

" _Princess?"_

"Heiress. Acts like a princess though. Anyway- see you when you get back?"

"Of course- see you soon!"

With that, she fades back into the house, and Joey turns back to his car. His hand's on the door when he peers up again, but this time he _swears_ he's not just seeing things. There's a figure sitting in the grass, probably the same one from earlier, a small spot of red against the green.

From here he can't tell whether they're human or a ghost.

Then again, many signs lead towards it being the latter.

But one of the leaves, having plucked itself from the branch, flutters towards them, _hitting_ the side of their head and _staying_ before the wind carries it off again.

_If everything goes through ghosts then how..._

_Breakfast is going to have to wait._


End file.
